A Thirst for More - Chapter Two

Hi all! This chapter's a bit tame and a slow burn, but I promise we'll be moving on to steamier stuff shortly!

***

Well, I've done it! I'm no longer a highschooler. Goodbye, Adrian the dorky senior who didn't even go to prom. Say hello to Adrian the- the... okay, the only slightly less dorky college freshman.

At least the kids here seem okay. Pretty different from everyone back home, but okay.

Orientation was, well, a lot. Confusing, for sure. Dis-orienting, to be ironic about it. And exhausting. I really don't know how they expect us to take in everything when they're talking at us for two days straight, occasionally breaking to herd us off for lunch, or to do some awkward team-building ice breaker shit, or to let us wander confusedly around the campus that will be our life for the next four years. Oh, don't get me wrong! It's definitely exciting and all. But after drowning among what feels like thousands of unfamiliar faces, and after getting buried in a blizzard of all sorts of papers and tip sheets and freshman resources and guides to signing up for your campus ID and lists of extracurricular activities, I just need a bit of a break.

Thank goodness my new room isn't all that far from campus. For instead of having to put up with all that dorm moving-in nonsense, I can just ease out of the crowd and head toward the gate that points the way back to my new room.

I like walking. Of course, it's pretty different here compared to back home. Instead of white gravel and tractor tracks and straggly weeds and the occasional turtle lumbering across the dusty surface in search of love - or maybe just some fresh water - here it's noisy. Busy. Distracting. There are cars easing past me, one after the other after the other. Sidewalks of cracked pavement and granite slabs. Precariously leaning telephone poles that look like they've been standing there for a century.

All kind of interesting, of course... but still, no turtles.

My landlady is there on the porch watering the geraniums when I get back. "Hi, Adrian," she greets me as I make it up the weather-beaten steps, and I notice that already I'm finding her accent much easier to understand. "Hey," I respond, slipping my new backpack awkwardly from my shoulders. "Just gonna go up and drop this off-"

"Oh, come now! I was hopin' you'd tell me how it's going so far," Mrs. Fenoli exclaims. "Go on, why don't you have a seat theah? You have some time, don' cha? I want ta heah all about it." Wow, okay. Guess she's really just curious? "Um, okay," I manage - and before I know it, I'm seated across from her in one of her faded chairs and trying to figure out what the heck to say.

"It was pretty cool, I guess," I begin. Stay polite and basic. "The campus is kinda of big, and, like, it's pretty spread out. It feels super easy to get lost..." Mrs. Fenoli is polishing her glasses on her sweater, but looks up with a short laugh. "It is, inn't it? They say the campus planners changed it up aftah the sixties - you know, made it hahdah foah students to gathah and make trouble." She slips her glasses back on and motions to my backpack. "But anyways. I guess you got lots of stuff in there to help it all make sense?"

Turns out she knows more about the campus than anyone I've met all day. And, well, before I know it we've migrated from the porch to the dinner table, and she's sorting through the papers with me, and we're figuring out what all these helpful tips and resources actually mean and what I actually need to do before classes start on Thursday.

"Nah, my dwaghtahs went to ______," she explains once I finally work up the courage to ask how she knows all this, and if her kids went there too. "But most colleges do things pretty much the same, fah as I can tell. And about knowing the campus... Well ya see, I used ta take Finrod on walksies theah-" Wait, Finrod? "Oh, Finrod was our old Irish Settah," she explains, seeing my bemused expression. "Anyway, it's a great place for wahks, and the security doesn't mind as long as you keep 'em on the leash..."

Mrs. Fenoli may have been critical of Betty for being a "tawkah", but it's only now that I'm finding out that she has quite a lot to say, too. Oddly enough, I find I'm genuinely enjoying what she says. Maybe it's just because she, at least, hasn't asked me to come with her to church yet...

***

"But the other folks theah. How were they?"

We're eating supper now. Yeah, it's kind of strange, but in a nice way; Mrs. Fenoli's been treating me like family the whole time, all the way down to inviting me to have meals with her as often as I like. Sure, I'd probably rather have spent time surfing the internet up in my room and snacking on the Takis I picked up at the store the other day, but I also know I should be nice and friendly. And somehow, it's actually becoming enjoyable.

I shrug, sudden visions of the disorienting masses of my fellow freshman crowding into my mind. "Fine, I guess. Too early to know for sure..." She swallows her mouthful of chicken and pushes the water pitcher my way. "Drink up, theah. It's never good to get yahself dried out!" I instinctively comply, filling my glass once more out of politeness. Okay, whatever. Why not?

I clear my throat, suddenly recalling the thing that had most taken me aback. "Um, it was kind of- kind of interesting, I guess. I dunno. It's just that, I mean-" I push a lump of potatoes aimlessly around my plate. "I guess I've just never met anyone else who, you know, like, started talking about their personal pronouns right off..." Crap, that probably sounds super judgey. Bet she doesn't even know what I mean...

To my surprise, she doesn't seem fazed in the least. "Oh, well, that's nice of them, inn't it? Guess you'll probably meet a lot of folks round heah who do that." She takes another swig of water and glances mildly over at me. "Now you're reminding me. I never asked you about yoahs, did I? I jus' go by she her hers, in case you wanted ta know..."

Wait, she does that too? I gulp. "Um, cool. I, um, I dunno." It's just words. If it really means that much, just tell her- "Most folks just say 'he him' for me," I manage lamely. But Mrs. Fenoli glances up over her glasses, those grey eyes suddenly intent on me. "Well, that's fine, sweetie. But what would you like?" She sets her fork neatly onto her now-clean plate. "It's yoah choice, you know. Whatever makes you mos' comfahtable."

I glance down, feeling my face warming. Memories surge forward - unwelcome memories, memories I don't want to even exist anymore- No, block them out- "They them," I manage, a trifle too loudly. "Um, yeah. I'd kind of like that. I mean, if it's not too much trouble..." Fuck, now she's going to look at me weird, probably think I'm gay or something-

But all I saw when I finally raised my eyes was the same mild smile. "Shuah, that's just fine, sweetie," she responds, just as calmly as if I'd asked for permission to connect to her wifi. "I'll try my best to remembah! Now then, you want some o' that apple taht?"

***

We ended up having a good evening. After that awkwardness about pronouns had passed, I got to hear her talk about her family history: her two "dwaghtahs" and their kids who lived in San Francisco and LA, respectively; how they'd moved to this old house nineteen years ago; what her husband had done for work before his passing. She'd had a nice life, it sounded like - and even now as a widow, she seemed more or less happy with how things had turned out...

"An' now with you heah, it's like havin' a nephew stayin' ovah," she told me with a cordial smile. "Hope you don't mind puttin' up with an old - well, oldah - lady..." Of course not, I assured her as I made my way slowly toward the stairs. I really appreciated what she was doing, and- "Oh, shuah," she waved me away. "No prahblem, no prahblem. Listen - I'll be lookin' out foah yah, makin' shuah ya stay well and healthy for yah folks, okay? Now, befoah ya head up, I got ya some watah-"

Turns out she did indeed. As I made my way up the stairs, backpack over one shoulder and the full pitcher of water and a glass in my hands, I suppressed an involuntary smile. Dang, Mrs. Fenoli was quite something. A bit overbearing, maybe, and a tiny bit... old. But old and overbearing in one of the nicest ways I knew...

"They them," I mouthed as I stared up at the ceiling late that night. Yeah. "They them" - just for practice. Yeah. Why not? If everyone else talks about them, why can't I?